Every fall for the past twenty years, I have had the privilege of teaching a dozen first-year students. I meet them as they begin their transition to college from homes literally all over the world – as far away as Singapore, as large as a major Greek metropolis, as small as a small town in Ohio (45 residents) and as close as Lexington, Mass.
I teach a small seminar on psychiatry and the lived experience of mental illness. The first week, while students are still settling into their dorms, learning how to get around the cafeteria, and adjusting to having roommates, we are learning the concept of attachment, the feeling of responsive and harmonious connection between a caregiver and a child.
We discuss how the need to be connected is essential for all of us. It begins in early childhood, when secure attachment – the feeling of being seen, soothed when sad or scared, and feeling safe and protected within a relationship – directly shapes the architecture of brain and strengthens our ability to learn, be flexible and resilient. I still hope that my seminar can provide a similar type of connection by creating a community of learners; a refuge during this sometimes difficult transition.
We begin the class by discussing two of my favorite writings, academic and otherwise. In “Ghosts in the manger“, psychoanalyst Selma Fraiberg and her colleagues explore the question of why a family caring for their baby cannot hear him cry. It is a clinical analysis of how to support parents who are struggling to meet their children’s needs, and it gives my students a window into the thought process and decisions of a caring therapist. The treatment captures the urgency to intervene and also how essential it is to bear witness to parents’ pain – to strengthen their ability to respond to their children.
What are these items that sometimes take up valuable space in the suitcase during a student’s very first trip to the United States?
In “I’m here ironing», a short story by Tillie Olsen — a true writer — the narrator (the mother) laments the obstacles encountered in giving her child what he needs to feel nourished, while sharing his pride..
The mother in this story deeply longs to connect with her daughter and is ashamed of missing opportunities to do so. The story also incorporates an understanding of mental illness in the context of systemic inequalities.
It’s exciting to hear my students’ thoughts on this work. But it’s always the last moments of the class that mark me. I ask them to bring an item to the seminar – something meaningful that they brought from home that brings them comfort during the transition to college.
What are these items that sometimes take up valuable space in the suitcase during a student’s very first trip to the United States? This year, my students gave me permission to share the stories they told themselves.
One student was carrying a letter from a seventh grade teacher. He explained that he had been a poor student until middle school, when he began staying after school, to get extra help and also more time away from the chaos of his home life. One day, her teacher leaned over and whispered, “You should become valedictorian.” » This little moment deeply motivated him. Five years later, he graduated as valedictorian.
Another student brought a flag. She is from Brazil and her friends and family signed a Brazilian flag that now hangs in her dorm room.
Another brought a photo of herself as a child feeding the ducks with her grandmother, who lived with and took care of her family while her parents trained to become doctors.
Another Indian student brought a Spiderman keychain. When he left home, he told his mother that, like Spiderman, he was swinging from building to building while studying, eventually returning to her house. He faces his family every day, despite the time difference.
If I had been asked this question during my first year, I might have answered my tattered blanket, one of the few items I had as a little child. This makes sense because my mother died when I was 4 years old.
I thought about what a colleague once told me about mentoring young people: how important it is to put fuel in a rocket.
This year, for the first time, I also asked my students to tell me what advice they could give to their parents. Too often, adults approach young people with the attitude: I know you don’t know. But this new generation of freshmen was in high school during the pandemic (some of my students did two full years of “virtual” high school). They weathered the public health emergency and the crisis of uncertainty that came with it, along with their parents. I imagined they would have valuable observations to share.
The question gave most of them pause. I received responses like “that’s an interesting question” or “let me think about it for a moment”, but ultimately they delivered on their promises.
Don’t make your trauma your child’s trauma, they told me. (It’s definitely an aspiration I’ve had and the theme of “Ghosts in the Manger.”) Another student wanted her parents to take care of themselves. She explained that raising children requires subjugating one’s own needs and desires, so it seemed like her parents should just enjoy life. Another begged his parents to trust in their good work to raise an independent person. Trust me, he said.
Their responses make me think they will be open to discovering that people with mental illness are often incredibly courageous and can teach us a lot.
After teaching my first class of the semester, I went for a run along the winding Charles River. I thought about what a colleague once told me about mentoring young people: how important it is to put fuel in a rocket. When we teach, we have the chance to learn with our students and invest in a bright future.
No matter how many obstacles, disappointments, and challenges my students face, I want to tell their parents: they’re on a roll.
